


Things You Said

by Selkit



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Post-Canon, Power Dynamics, Prompt Fic, Tags May Change, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-09-28
Packaged: 2018-03-20 14:43:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3654234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selkit/pseuds/Selkit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Words hold the power to command, to inspire, to mend, to destroy--and Kuvira knows it as well as anyone.</p><p>A small series of unrelated, standalone fics all based on Tumblr prompts beginning with <i>"things you said when..."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: _things you said when you thought I was asleep_

"You need to stop holding it over my head,” Kuvira said, calm and flat, “if this relationship is ever going to work again.”

Baatar looked up from his blueprint, eyes narrowing behind his glasses. “I don’t hold it over your head.”

“Yes, you do.” Kuvira’s eyes flicked to the chair opposite him. She took a step toward it, then stopped, slipping her hands behind her back instead. “Maybe not consciously. But you do. Any time there’s an argument, a difference of opinion, anything—I tense up, waiting for you to mention it. It’s the ultimate trump card.”

He rocked back in his chair, letting his whole weight crash against the back. “Are you telling me _you’re_ the wounded party here? What, am I supposed to just forget the fact that you almost killed me? On _purpose?”_

“You see?” Kuvira blew out her breath, anger and agitation welling in her throat. “You’re doing it right now.”

“I see how it is,” Baatar said. He tossed his pen down on the table and folded his arms, his face twisting like a provoked wolfbat. “You’re perfectly fine with a power imbalance in the relationship, as long as you’re the one with the upper hand. But as soon as the roles are reversed? Suddenly it’s intolerable.”

Kuvira frowned. “Power imbalance? I outranked you in our professional lives, yes, but in our personal relationship—”

“Kuvira, half the time I didn’t know where our professional lives ended and our personal lives began,” he broke in. “We took paperwork to _bed_ with us an alarming number of times. But anyway, that’s not what I’m talking about.” 

He yanked off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes, and suddenly Kuvira noticed the haggard lines in his face, the violet circles beneath his eyes, the drooping slope of his shoulders.

“Listen,” he said, his voice softening. “I didn’t mind being your subordinate. Even when people snickered behind their hands and said I was whipped or brainwashed or whatever. You’re a force of nature. You’re determined and willful and charismatic and beautiful and—and I was just blown away that you wanted _me_ , someone whose own family barely even noticed him. I still am, to be honest.”

“Then what imbalance are you talking about?” Kuvira unlocked her arms and legs and moved to the table, sliding into the chair and cradling her forgotten cup of tea. She stared down into the lukewarm honey-colored liquid, listening to Baatar’s quiet sigh.

“The fact that you were more important to me than I was to you,” he said.

“That isn’t true.”

He scoffed; his voice shot out like a fist. “A spirit cannon blast to the face says otherwise.”

“Baatar…”

“I would _never_ have done anything like that to you,” he barged over her, hurt filling his voice, and she felt her bare toes curl against the floor. “Never. I would have let the whole world go up in flames before I would do anything to hurt you.”

“That doesn’t mean I wasn’t invested in our relationship,” Kuvira said, trying to keep her voice level. “It just means I have a greater capacity to put my duty ahead of my personal feelings. Are you even listening to yourself? You would have ‘let the whole world go up in flames?’ We led a _nation_ , you and I. Being a leader means sometimes you have to make tough decisions and put your emotions to the side for the good of the people.”

He set his jaw and tightened his eyes. In his anger he looked so much like his mother, and a deep ache spread through Kuvira’s chest. “At least I _have_ emotions.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I talked to the helmsman who was on the bridge with you when you fired,” Baatar said. “He told me that after you pulled the trigger, you just sighed and kept pressing the attack like nothing had happened.”

The teacup creaked in her tightening grasp. “When have you ever known me to show emotion in front of the crew or the soldiers? Can you truly picture me screaming and crying in front of a helmsman? In the middle of a military engagement, no less?”

Baatar looked away, his eyes misty beneath his glasses. “I guess I just hoped I would be your exception. I know if anything had ever happened to you, I would’ve—”

His voice came to a strangled halt, and he shuddered, propping his elbows on his knees and staring at the floor.

“Listen,” Kuvira said. She rose and skirted the table, kneeling in front of his chair and meeting him eye to eye. “You can say whatever you like about me—that I went crazy, that I lost my mind, my soul, my humanity—and maybe it’s all true.”

She reached out to cover his hands with hers, mapping his familiar skin beneath her fingers: old ink stains blotched across his chapped knuckles, calluses framing the softer skin of his palms, knobs on his fingers raised from hours of holding pens and tools.

“But just don’t accuse me of not caring for you,” she whispered. “And don’t _ever_ think I didn’t feel anything when I made that decision.”

He was silent, avoiding her eyes, and after a moment she sat back on her heels with a sigh. Her hands slipped from his, and she noticed his fingers tense.

“Maybe we tried this again too soon,” she said, half to herself, half to him. “You’re under no obligation to forgive me, of course. But I don’t think we can be together if you can’t.”

“I thought I had,” he murmured. His eyes still remained safely locked on the floor; his hands dangled in front of him like overcooked noodles. “Sometimes we’re together and it’s like it used to be, like nothing ever happened. But then there are other times when I just can’t forget.”

He finally glanced to her as he rose from the chair, his eyes catching hers for no more than an instant. “I need to go think,” he said, peeling his blueprint off the table and draping it over his arm. 

For a moment he stood shifting his weight from foot to foot, arms positioned awkwardly in front of him, uncertainty his body’s mother tongue. Then he shook his head, the motion almost imperceptible, turned on his heel as sharp as an Earth Empire soldier, and strode from the room. 

* * *

Kuvira was well accustomed to sleeping alone. Sleep was a luxury, not a right, and anyone spending years on a military campaign quickly learned to rest whenever and however they could. It mattered little whether she was buried under plush covers on a sprawling feather-stuffed mattress or stretched out on a rigid Earth Empire mag-train bench. 

Even so, as she stared into the darkness and gritted her teeth against the urge to turn over for the tenth time, she had to admit the warmth of Baatar’s arms had spoiled her. 

_Getting soft,_ she thought, then grimaced as his accusations pounced on her again.

The door creaked open in front of her, and she instinctively stilled, watching through slitted eyes. A triangle of light slid across the floor from the hallway, interrupted by Baatar’s familiar silhouette. He waited a moment, letting his eyes adjust, and she caught the quick flare of light reflecting off his glasses before he pushed the door closed with a gentle click.

“Kuvira?” he said, his voice hushed, tentative.

 _I’m too tired,_ she thought, and lay still, keeping her eyes closed and her breathing even. _I don’t want to fight anymore._

Moments passed before she heard the floor groan beneath his footsteps, followed by the bed sagging under his weight. She let herself stir, just a little, the picture of one almost but not quite roused from a deep slumber.

“Kuvira,” he whispered again, and she felt his fingers in her hair, his hand sliding to cup her head through the mass of her hair, tangled from its restless trek back and forth across the pillow.

“You know,” he said after another moment, “I used to check your pulse at night, back when we were uniting the Em—the country. After the first few assassination attempts, I was terrified I would wake up and find you—”

He broke off, his fingers tightening in her hair. Kuvira stayed motionless, warmth spreading through her, trying not to smile at his reluctance to even voice the possibility despite everything she’d done. 

“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” Baatar went on. His thumb moved in lazy little circles at the base of her skull, and Kuvira suppressed a shiver.

“You were right,” he said. “I haven’t forgiven you. At least not completely. But I also know what it’s like to be without you. Those years you spent in prison, and me in house arrest…” He sighed. “That was misery, and I don’t want to go back to that. But I don’t know how to forgive you, either. How do you look back at something like that and just decide not to let it matter anymore?”

The silence stretched, providing no answers. Baatar’s hand stilled, then fell away.

“I don’t know,” he said, almost too quietly for Kuvira to hear. “I guess…just be patient with me?” 

He gave a soft, derisive snort as soon as the words were out of his mouth. “Yeah, that sounded weak even to me.”

Kuvira took a deep breath.

“I don’t know,” she murmured. “I’m pretty good at being patient.”

The bed creaked, and she let one eye fall open, peering up at Baatar’s slack-jawed face. 

“You sneak!” he said, but she heard the smile in his voice. “You’ve been awake this whole time?”

She had the grace to wince. “I’m sorry.”

He slipped down beside her, face to face, hesitating a moment before sliding an arm over her waist. 

“You were right, before,” Kuvira said. She reached out to touch his cheek, her fingers lingering on the jagged scars. “I’m not the wounded party. And like I said, you would be completely justified if you never forgave me. But if you think maybe someday you could…I’m willing to wait. As long as you want to try.”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.” He turned his head beneath her palm, pressing a kiss to her fingertips. “Talk about it more tomorrow?”

She nodded, scooting forward and turning until her back was flush with his chest, his breaths warm on her neck. 

“Want to check my pulse?” she asked after a moment, and stifled a yelp at the resulting pinch.

“Go to sleep,” he growled against her earlobe, but he was chuckling. “For real this time.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: _things you said when you were drunk_

"You are…so beautiful," Baatar said. His voice was earnest, his face nothing short of dazzled, his eyes as huge and bright as stars behind his glasses.

"And you," said Kuvira, "are so drunk."

"I’m not drunk." He lurched back in his chair, plastering on an affronted expression. The liquid in his glass sloshed dangerously close to the rim, a miniature amber-colored tidal wave. "I’m _inebriated_.”

She stifled a smile. “Inebriated means drunk.”

"Yeah, but it sounds better. More dis…distinguished. Fits the consort of the Great Uniter."

"Did you just say _consort?”_

His grin turned giddy with adoration. Kuvira could almost see tiny hearts swirling around his head. “Yeah.”

She set down her own almost-full glass and perched on his knee, sliding her arms around his shoulders. He _quivered_ at the contact, his breath leaving him with a soft, desperate sound she suspected he would not make while sober.

"I think," she whispered, leaning in close to his ear, “‘fiancé’ works just fine."

"Fiancé," he repeated, drawing the word out slowly, as though it were a delicacy to be savored. His arms slid around her waist, pulling her in closer. "You know, this would be more fun if you were drinking, too."

"I am." She waved a hand at the forlorn glass on the edge of her desk.

He gave her a look. “You’ve had two sips.”

"Well, you know me." She repositioned herself on his lap, tucking her head beneath his chin. His arms instinctively tightened around her, filling her with a gentle, comforting warmth far better than anything alcohol could promise. "I prefer to be in control of all my faculties."

"Yeah, but it’s our first night as an _engaged couple_.” He enunciated as clearly as he was able, and she could feel his goofy smile returning, his lips stretching against the crown of her head. “You should be celebrating. We’re gonna remember this night for the rest of our lives.”

She pulled back to look up at him, raising an eyebrow. “I _want_ to remember it. Which is another reason I’m not drinking.”

"You…" His gaze turned hazy, then slowly cleared. "You have a point. Hmm. Okay. I guess I’ll stop."

He looked down at the remaining liquor in his glass, giving it a mournful swirl, then glanced back at Kuvira. His gaze was almost shy.

"It’s okay if I just finish this glass, right?" he said. "You’ll still respect me in the morning?"

Kuvira laughed, startling herself with the joy in the sound. She leaned forward to press her lips to his cheek.

"Of course I’ll still respect you," she said. "You’re my fiancé."

"Fiancé," he whispered, swallowing the last of the liquor and pushing the empty glass off to the side, slipping both his hands into her unbound hair. "I’m never gonna get tired of saying that."

She leaned forward, resting her forehead against his, and closed her eyes. “Neither am I.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: _things you said too quietly_

In less than an hour, it was done. Kuvira stood in the colossus mech’s control room, ramrod straight as though her bones were rods of platinum. The mech’s steps thundered down the deserted streets, every impact setting the city’s walls and roofs to quaking like frightened children searching for a skirt to scurry under.

She’d accepted President Raiko’s surrender with her own hand, knowing his will was shattered the moment she’d laid eyes on his shell-shocked, ashen face. The city’s police chief— _Suyin’s sister,_ Kuvira thought distantly—had been a different matter, requiring forcible restraints and a platinum cage, her eyes wild with grief and hate.

“Congratulations are in order, Your Eminence,” one of Kuvira’s generals babbled next to her ear. She prided herself on remembering details, no matter how small, but at this particular moment she had no inkling of the man’s name. “To conquer one of the world’s foremost cities in only minutes, with no more than a handful of shots fired—they’ll be writing it in the history books, for certain. A magnificent victory, Great Uniter.”

“Yes,” she said, toneless, feeling anything but magnificent. “Thank you. Dismissed.”

He bowed and departed, and the next group of personnel awaiting her attention hovered at the fringe of her vision, waiting for her signal to enter. She waved them further in with a jerk of her head, her throat tightening as the acrid scent of smoke and blackened, gutted wreckage filled the small chamber.

“Great Uniter,” the lead officer said, sinking into a low bow. Charred debris flaked off his uniform to litter the floor like unmelting black snowflakes. “We’ve begun our search of the warehouse remains, as requested, and we have prepared our preliminary report.”

Kuvira’s neck felt so stiff and tight she thought it might snap, but she managed to incline her head. “Were there any survivors?”

“No, Your Eminence.”

Kuvira allowed herself a single controlled blink. “You found bodies, then.”

“Some, yes,” the officer said. “We haven’t yet identified all of them. We expect to find more further within the wreckage, but it is also likely that some of the bodies were simply obliterated with the force of the blast. The destruction was quite thorough, Your Eminence. It is a near impossibility that any survived.”

“We thought that before with Bolin and Varrick, and it turned out to be false,” Kuvira said, her skin stretching even tighter over her face. “I want patrols sweeping every corner of this city in search of survivors, just to be certain. Any found are to be taken alive.”

“Yes, Great Uniter.”

Her arms and legs had gone numb, useless chunks of stone attached to her body, and her tongue felt like old wadded up fabric shoved into her mouth. She forced her words out, careful and deliberate. “Was the Avatar’s body among the ones you recovered?”

“Yes, Your Eminence.”

Her chest loosened enough to allow a single deep breath. It didn’t help much. “And my fiancé?”

For the first time, the officer hesitated, his eyes flicking away as a thin pink tongue darted out to wet his lips. “…Yes, Great Uniter. We found his body.”

“You’re certain.”

He nodded, gaze wary but steady. She searched his face for deceit and found none.

She did not turn away. She _would_ not turn away. “I want to see him.”

Dismay flared in the officer’s face, and he lifted his hands, palms forward. “I am…not sure if that would be wise, Your Eminence.”

She opened her mouth to verbally eviscerate him, to demand how a mere officer dared to dictate _wisdom_ to the Great Uniter, but the small voice in the back of her mind that had been screaming and screaming ever since she’d pulled the trigger increased to a fever pitch, and she caught herself an instant before her unsteady knees betrayed her.

“Very well,” she said. “Tomorrow, then.”

He bowed again, and she could hear his uniform creaking beneath the layer of encrusted soot and grime. “As you command.”

* * *

In a city of abandoned buildings, she had little need to make camp. Her soldiers fanned out across the ghost-town avenues, returning with reports of food still cooling on dinner tables, dresser drawers ripped open and swaying on their hinges, beds unmade and chairs tipped on their sides like overturned beetles.

 _They dropped everything to run from me,_ Kuvira thought. _If only Baatar had done the same—_

She crushed the thought with a savage blow the instant it strayed into her mind. The Great Uniter had no room for “if only.”

“Your Eminence of course has her pick of lodgings for the time being,” another of her generals was saying. Or perhaps it was the same one as before. “But if you’ll allow me to make a few suggestions? President—er, former President Raiko’s residence is, of course, the grandest in the city, but the Sato mansion is also quite lavish. Or, if the Great Uniter would prefer something a bit cozier, the Presidential Suite at the Four Elements hotel is—”

“No,” she interrupted, startling both herself and him with the force behind the word. Vaguely she realized she was projecting her voice to be heard over the relentless roar of blood in her ears. “Absolutely not the Presidential Suite. Just…set up one of the regular suites for now. That will be all.”

She turned away before she heard his reply, unable to stop the barrage of memories from her last visit to the city, when she’d stretched out on the Presidential Suite’s ridiculously oversized bed with Baatar at her side. She remembered them both caught up in gales of laughter as she’d described Prince Wu’s face when she’d thrown him from the suite, and then the laughter quieting, Baatar’s arms encircling her, his mouth finding the small tender spot beneath her jaw, and Prince Wu vanishing from her thoughts altogether.

She closed her eyes and reached back in time to the moments before her first dance recital, to Suyin’s gentle voice surrounding her, telling her _just breathe, Kuvira, just breathe._

She breathed in and out and in again, trying not to think of Suyin and her family lying still and cold beneath a pile of rubble.

* * *

The suite, while not presidential-sized, was spacious enough to allow for all her personal effects, yet the walls still seemed to press in on her. The stark overhead lighting felt harsh and glaring, as though pinning her in a spotlight to lay her choices bare. She could endure it no more than a moment before switching it off with a flick of her wrist. Gray twilight flooded the room in its stead, the persistent moody atmosphere only a meager improvement, and she lit a single candle to stave it off.

She sat on the edge of the bed, back straight, feet flat on the floor, and waited for the numbness to recede. The room was no longer small and claustrophobic, but immense and empty, even the regular-sized bed far too big for just one person. She twined her fingers in her lap and stared at the candle, watching the shadows’ contorted dance against the wall, the flame’s feeble light struggling to push back against the gnawing darkness.

The knock at the door was so light and timid she almost didn’t hear it. Her head jerked toward the room’s entrance, and she half-considered bending a volley of metal spikes through the flimsy wooden door instead of answering.

 _Don’t you think you’ve killed enough of your own people today?_ taunted a tiny voice at the back of her head. She growled and rose to her feet, crossing the room in two strides and pulling the door open. 

One of her soldiers stood there, a young woman, her helmet tucked beneath her arm and her hair in frazzled disarray. At the sight of Kuvira her eyes widened and her throat worked, clear signs of one who hadn’t truly expected an answer to her knock, all bravado disappearing.

“Great Uniter,” she bleated, dropping into a bow. “Forgive me for disturbing you. I—I was one of the unit assigned to investigate the destroyed warehouse.”

“Go on,” Kuvira ordered, her tone clipped even to her own ears. She slipped into her military stance, letting herself tower over the hunched soldier, and braced herself for more reports of barely recognizable corpses.

The soldier shifted, rising from her bow, and held out her hand.

“I found this while we were clearing the debris,” she said. “I…I thought perhaps you might like to have it.”

Her fingers unfurled, shaking slightly. Half a pair of glasses nestled in her palm, the dark plastic bent at a wild angle, the lens cracked and splintered like a thawing pond under a heavy footstep. 

Kuvira’s body went cold.

“Thank you,” she said, the words automatic. She reached out to carefully draw the glasses from the soldier’s outstretched hand, cradling them in her own ungloved palm. She barely noticed when the woman ducked into a hasty bow and fled down the hallway. 

Kuvira turned back into her suite, the door falling closed behind her with a distant thud. The glasses were cool to her touch, lacking the warmth she’d always felt—or imagined—all the times she’d gently plucked them from Baatar’s face after he’d fallen asleep still wearing them, his head pitched forward onto a half-finished blueprint. If she looked closer, she imagined she could almost see her own fingerprints on the plastic, mingling with his. 

Her head felt…strange, like it was too heavy for her body, like it was about to careen off her shoulders and roll away. After a moment she noticed the glasses trembling violently on her palm, and she frowned, glancing around the room at the furniture.

_Is it an earthquake? An earthbender—?_

But the furniture was motionless. Her body answered for her, her arms and shoulders nearly jerking with the force of her trembling, and she stared down at her quaking fingers with a small, detached amazement. 

“I had to do it,” she said aloud, forcing the words out through chattering teeth. “It was the only choice that made tactical sense. Do you understand that?”

She could hear her own labored breathing coming faster, almost wheezing. Her head felt weightless instead of heavy, and the room seemed to tilt at an odd angle, as though she’d just staggered off a boat after a long sea voyage.

“We agreed long ago, remember?” she said. “Back when we started all this. I had the last word on tactics, you had the last word on science and engineering.”

The glasses creaked between her shaking fingers, and the thought of accidentally breaking them further brought a surge of bile to her throat, so strong and sudden that she nearly dropped to her knees. 

“I had to,” she said again. Her voice was soft, edged in desperation. “It was tactics.”

She turned to the bed, as though he were there to reply, but it stretched flat and empty as windswept desert. She remembered him mounded under the covers in the cool dawn light, his disgruntled _is-it-really-morning-already_ look always fading to a gentle smile when he caught sight of her.

“It was tactics,” she whispered, too quietly for anyone to hear. She wanted to yell it loud enough to make it echo off the walls, but even then, he would never hear. “I had no choice.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops! Forgot to upload the last one of these ficlets from like...five months ago. 
> 
> Prompt: _things you said when the blood began to race_. Takes place post-canon, as Baatar and Kuvira are serving a labor sentence.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” Kuvira says. Her Earth Empire uniform is gone, replaced by a simple rough linen tunic, but she slides into her formal stance like the weight of a nation still rests on her stiff shoulders. Her spine straightens, her hands locking into place behind her back, and she meets Baatar’s gaze squarely.

It’s a defense mechanism, he realizes—a protective barrier of familiarity, of security, to shield herself from the possibility of his rejection. Or from his disgust, perhaps. _She’s nervous_ , he thinks in amazement.

“I want to,” he says, letting reassurance flood his voice. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

Kuvira eyes him, as though judging his sincerity. Her room is small and plain, simple stone walls and a floor with a single frayed rug, first colored blue, then purple in the shifting candlelight. Her face is long and filled with shadows, a little thinner and sharper than it used to be.

“Do _you_ want to?” Baatar tries, after moments tick by with no answer.

“Of course,” she says, and the immediacy of her response loosens the knot in his chest. “But I’m not the one whose fiancé shot—”

“Ah.” Baatar lifts a hand to cut her off. “If we’re going to do this, we’re not talking about that.”

He’d hoped the words would comfort her. Instead, she crosses her arms and deepens her frown. “Not talking about it won’t change the fact that it happened.”

“Believe me, I know.” He steps forward, resting both hands on her shoulders. She doesn’t move, and he slowly rubs up and down her forearms, trying to soothe away the tension in the hard coiled muscle. “But I don’t want to dwell on it for the rest of my life. If I did, I’d still be back in Zaofu. Probably crying on my mother’s shoulder.”

She purses her lips, but he feels her shoulders finally starting to relax. “Is that mental image supposed to put me in the mood?” she asks, voice as dry as Earth Kingdom summers. 

“Hey,” he says, a touch of mock defensiveness slipping into his tone. “It’s been a while. I might be a little bit out of practice.”

“A while,” Kuvira echoes. Her arms unfurl and slip around him, and it almost takes his breath away how easily she still fits against his chest. “Four years.”

“Four years and three months, if you want to get precise.” He unclasps her hairband and sets it aside, sifting his hands through the thick dark waves. She chuckles against his chest, and the sound makes his heart stutter for the first time in far too long.

“What, you don’t have it down to the day?” She lifts her head, tilting her face up to his. Her smile is soft in the candlelight, and Baatar lets instinct take over, lowering his mouth to hers. 

“No,” he murmurs between kisses, “because then people might accuse me of being whipped and lovesick. More than they already do.”

He feels her breaths quickening, her hands roaming over his back and sides. “Does that bother you?” she asks, her voice half guarded, half already wound tight with desire. 

Baatar tugs at her linen shift, and she raises her arms, letting him pull it over her head. He sits back on his heels, eyes drifting over her, noting four years’ worth of differences—the frame turned leaner and harder from labor and prison food, the hipbones jutting out like gnarled tree roots under too-thin soil, the white ridged scars etched into her skin. 

He reaches out to trace the marks bisecting her abdomen, closing his eyes, reliving old memories and creating new ones.

“No,” he whispers. “Not anymore.”


End file.
